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Mariette was preparing for her first communion. This was serious:
“The most beautiful day of my life, you understand!”
I didn’t understand.
“There’ll be bells ringing and music and lights…
Once this was the heart of Warsaw—this labyrinth of sad narrow streets between tall tenement houses. Now this is a remote place, an ancient tumor on the body of the modern city, where its blood flows…
Have I made it clear how much I indulge my husband? Seven years of love had been simply one long series of concessions, joyfully made in a whirl of happiness. I adjusted to everything, all the…
Yom Kippur, when the narrow alleys of the shulhoyf
cradle the small shtibls, pious and scared,
householders hurry with their taleisim
and old men shuffle along in their socks—
I feel the narrow…
(Short Poems in Prose)
“‘Do you want me to release to you your King of the Jews?’ asked Pilate of the multitude.
“‘What is that? What does he say?’
“‘The Procurator asks whom shall he release to you for the festival: Bar…
“Act dumb,” Otilia advised me. “Change the subject.” To help me understand what she meant, she illustrated by relating a conversation she had had with a neighbor. It was December, when a great deal of…
Now whatever else may be involved in a nondeliberate change of accent, one thing is clear: it bespeaks a very high degree of detachment from the ethos of one’s immediate surroundings. It is…
[ . . . ] Braendel dragged the poor woman into the smoky room, which stank of sweat, beer, and wine, and cried out in a loud voice, “Aren’t you ashamed, you children of honest Jews, to drink and…
The guests had retired to their homes. The children had been blessed and sent to bed. The parents throughout the quarter, having discussed the one topic of the day…